CHAPTER 7
As I turned away from Abe, intent on going to see the curator Mr. Castriano, the sound of crunching gravel caused me to pause and glance up the slope towards the large grey stone building.
There, just turning onto the path through the hand-made rock wall towards us were two vehicles. The first was a slate gray sedan, and I could dimly make out what appeared to be a long-haired woman at the wheel. My guess was this was the medical examiner. It was the second vehicle that caused me to close my eyes and groan.
The second vehicle was a late-model van with a large wolf-head decal painted on it’s side, and the words “WOLF Media. FM 98.9 and CH-6. Join the Pack!”. Spinning around, I barked “Which one of you assholes called the news?”. Cavanaugh looked up wide-eyed from taking a picture of Abe’s shoe and shook his head. I looked over to the two officers canvassing the area, and they likewise shrugged. Abe studied the ground, avoiding my gaze.
Cursing under my breath, I turned back to watch the approaching vehicles. Castriano was going to have to wait while I managed the media.
The sedan slowly pulled up and parked behind the CSI van, confirming my guess that it was Maya. I gave a short wave as I turned my focus to the approaching van. The driver pulled up on the opposite side of the path of Maya’s car, right behind my beat-up Mazda. Eyeing the rather tight distance between his bumper and my rear-end, I shifted my gaze to the occupants. The driver looked to be in his mid to late twenties, with blond hair pulled back in a ponytail, and aviator sunglasses, hiding his eyes. I vaguely put a name to him, Reynolds, the cameraman.
Sitting next to him, I could see a woman, a dark redhead with features I knew all too well. Sighing inwardly, I braced myself as I walked over to the passenger side of the van. The woman stepped out, closing the door as she turned to face me. She was slightly shorter than me, around 5’ 8”. Her red hair was long and wavy, and she had it thrown over her right shoulder. The eyes that met mine were emerald green, and complemented an aquiline nose and a slightly curved smile as she put her hands on her hips. She was wearing beige silk button down shirt that was tucked into a pair of tight blue jeans that accentuated her long legs.
“Good morning Harper” she said. “I had a feeling I’d see you out here when I found out whose grave it was”.
“And how exactly, did you “find out” Angie?”, I asked, taking a shot.
Angie kept her smile as she replied “Now Harper, you know, just like magicians-“
“-reporters never tell their secrets, yeah, yeah”, I muttered, completing the saying that I’d heard from her all too many times. “Never mind. I have a pretty good idea” I muttered as I cast a quick glance back at Abraham, who had finished with Cavanaugh and was hopping into his back-hoe.
“So how have you been?” Angie asked, as she accepted a notebook and pen from Reynolds, the surfer-wannabe. “We haven’t seen each other in a while”
“In a while” was specifically five weeks and three days since we sat across from each other in her attorney’s office and parted ways in the matrimonial sense. At the time, we had been married for just over three years. Angie said I changed after Anders was killed, and that I wasn’t the same man that she had married anymore. I said our marriage started falling apart when she started doinking one of the tv station producers while she was still covering radio, but you know, potato-patato.
Since then, not surprisingly, Angie was promoted to a reporter for the television arm of the WOLF media family. Occasionally I would see her at a crime scene, or live-reporting about an event in Wolf Hollow, but aside from that, contact had been non-existent. If I’m being honest with myself, I do miss Angie, but I don’t miss the extracurricular doinking.
“Living the dream.” I replied “How’s living in my house?”. Somehow, which I won’t care to speculate, Angie had been able to pay for a high-price divorce lawyer, who in turn ate my low-rent mouthpiece’s lunch.
Angie smiled slightly, and ignored the jab. “So what happened with Alison Newton’s grave?” she asked, pen poised over her open notebook.
And here we go, the dance begins, I thought. “Angie, this is an active crime scene, and you know I can’t answer any questions. Anyway, it sounds like you’ve found a little birdie who’s been whispering in your ear. “I replied.
Some movement up the hill caught the corner of my eye, and I half-turned as Angie was scribbling something down. Looking up, I saw rounding the corner of the funeral home an extended golf cart, and it appeared to be heading this way. At the wheel was a skinny older man in a shirt and tie, and he was clearly in a hurry to get down here, as he avoided the path, and was slaloming through headstones instead.
Thirty seconds later, he skidded to a stop maybe thirty feet away, and hurriedly stepped out of the cart, smoothing his tie as he did so.
Sighing inwardly, I turned towards who I could only assume to be Mr. Castriano, the curator of this quiet cemetery that was rapidly turning into a circus. Upon closer inspection, Mr. Castriano looked to be in his late forties or early fifties. His dark hair was thinning rapidly, and now quite the mess after his mad dash down here. He wore black pants that were a little too short, with white socks peeping out just above his tasseled black shoes. His eyes were beady and a little too close together, over a pointed nose and a thin-lipped mouth.
I was about to open my mouth and introduce myself as Mr. Castriano hustled up, when he abruptly turned to my ex with a wide smile, and extended his hand.
“Ms. Renfro, a pleasure to meet you, but unfortunately under such horrible circumstances!” he gushed.
Angie gave him a megawatt smile to go along with a deferential handshake, and replied “Please, it’s Angie, and you as well. And you must be the curator, Mr. Castriano?”
And bingo, introducing my new prime candidate for my big-mouth birdie!
Before the good curator could get down on one knee and swear fealty for life, I intervened “Mr. Castriano, I’m Detective Harper Jones with the Wolf Hollow PD. Can I have a moment of your time in private please?” I asked, smiling and baring my teeth slightly.
Mr. Castriano turned and looked at me. Seeing my expression, he turned back to Angie “Let me know if there is anything I can do for you when I’m finished with the detective”.
Angie flashed me a look of annoyance, and then smiled again at the curator. “I certainly will. Thank you, Mr. Castriano.”
“Call me Doug” he replied over his shoulder as I firmly steered him by the elbow away from Angie.
Once we were out of hearing range I stopped and faced “Doug”. “Mr. Castriano,” I began “this is a crime scene. Until we have secured it, the only information that will be released to the media will go through me. Is that clear?”
Doug glanced over my shoulder at Angie and her cameraman, who were pressed up against the yellow tape. One of the officers had stopped canvassing and was making his way over to keep an eye on them.
Unconsciously smoothing his hair, he replied “Understood detective. What can I do for you?”
Now that I had gotten that out of the way, I could begin focusing on the important questions. “Let’s start with who knows about this.” I nodded towards the open grave. “Obviously Abraham and yourself. Anyone else?”
“Just Frannie, my office assistant.” He replied
“Noone else? Any idea how the news crew found out about it so quickly?” I nodded towards Angie.
“Nope. Frannie was in my office when Abraham came up and told me about it.” Doug met my eyes, then shifted his gaze, glancing up to his right nervously.
If I still had my house, I’d bet that Doug had called the station. As it was now, it didn’t really matter. I just wanted to see how truthful he would be.
“How about security? Any cameras outside covering the cemetery entrances, or the parking lot?”
“Not out here. The only cameras I have are at mortuary entrances and in the cadaver prepping room. Abraham lives in the cottage over there.” He nodded towards the trees. “If anything happens at night, like kids horsing around, he generally chases them off and notifies me the next morning.”
“Ever have anyone dig up graves before?” I asked.
“We’ve had gravestones pulled out or defaced. Once had someone take a dump on a grave. Toilet paper-wrapped headstones are always popular.” He paused, as if searching his memory. “Can’t say as I recall anyone trying to dig up a grave though.”
“Have you filed any formal complaints regarding inappropriate activities here with the police department?” I inquired?
“Not recently” he shook his head. “Last one I can remember was a little over a year ago, we filed a complaint when a bunch of teenagers had a party on Devil’s Night down at the MacAndrew mausoleum. Abraham recognized a few of them and called it in. Turned out one of them was the mayor’s daughter, so of course, nothing ever came of it.”
I made a note of this and continued. “Has anyone come in and asked about Ms. Newton or her gravesite recently?”
“Not to me.” He replied. “You could ask Frannie, she might have talked to someone. We also have a kiosk in our foyer, where someone can look up the location of a person’s grave. I’m not sure, but the hard drive might save searches”
Definitely need to look at that, I thought. And pay a visit to Frannie while I’m up there.
“Alright Mr. Castriano, if you can think of anything else, give me a call” I said, handing him a card. “In the meantime, no one touches the crime scene until I give the ok. And make sure Abraham is aware. Is Frannie up there now?” I nodded toward the mortuary.
“Yes, her desk is in the front foyer” he replied, pocketing the card and casting a quick glance towards Angie, who was listening to someone on her phone.
“And no talking to the press about anything related to the grave, or its contents!” I added, nodding towards Angie.
Chastened, he looked back at me, nodded, looked down, and shuffled away back towards his golf cart.
As he left, Angie, said something quickly into her phone, snapped it shut, and started walking towards good old Doug. Her cameraman meanwhile, was taking pan shots of the grave and surrounding area. Maya had now entered the crime scene, and had her head bent towards Cavanaugh, and was talking to him quietly.
Shoving my notepad in my pocket, I aimed to cut off Angie before she got to Castriano.
“Angie, stop!” I hollered
Angie looked at me as she kept walking towards Doug, who had now paused getting in his cart, and was looking back at Angie. “You can’t keep me from talking to him!” she replied back.
I gritted my teeth. She was right, I couldn’t keep her from trying to talk to Doug…
“Mr. Castriano!” I called out. “Remember what I said! And if I find out that you said something that you shouldn’t have, I’ll arrest you for obstruction of justice!”. There was no way I could make that stick, but I was betting old Dougie didn’t know that.
Dougie’s eyes got a little wider as he registered what I said. Then he scrambled into his golf cart and sped back up the gravel path.
Smiling inwardly, I prepared to ignore my now-angry ex-wife as I strode over to Maya, before I headed up to see Frannie.
“Dammit Harper! You have no right-!” she started, as I tuned her out and ducked under the yellow tape, and walked up to Maya and Cavanaugh.
Maya finished talking with Cavanaugh, and turned to look at me as I approached. She was young for a Medical Examiner, probably in her early 30s. She had been the Assistant Medical Examiner under Jan when Anders was shot, and then, when Jan’s husband got a job transfer to Connecticut, Jan resigned, and Maya was promoted. She was short and petite, and sporting a white medical jacket over dark slacks and black running shoes. Curly brown hair framed her darkly-tanned, oval face with dark brown eyes, a pert, slightly upturned nose, and a small mouth that was currently pressed tightly together in anger.
“Who could do something like this Harper?” she whispered. Maya could get away with calling me Harper, as we had dated a few times after my divorce. It never got serious, as we both agreed that a “spark” just wasn’t there. We have however, remained friends.
“A sick son-of-a-bitch, that’s for sure” I muttered, glancing into the grave again. “Anything to tell me?”
“Not really, until I get her back to morgue.” She replied “I haven’t heard of any other graves being dug up around here. I’ll run the rape kit, examine her for any trace evidence…”she paused. “There is one strange thing though. On her forehead, right here,” she put her finger to her forehead right above and between her eyes, “there’s a smear of some sort of gelatinous substance, maybe petroleum jelly?”
I hadn’t noticed that when I initially looked at Alison. “Fresh?” I inquired.
“Well it certainly hasn’t been down there since we buried her six months ago. It would have dried up a long before now. So it must have been put there last night” She responded.
So the perp did leave something behind. Not much, but something, and something unique.
“Don’t tell anyone about the jelly” I said. “And tell Cavanaugh to keep it quiet too. That way only four people know about it. You, me, Cavanaugh, and the bastard who did this.”
Maya nodded silently, then looked up at me. “How are you doing?” she asked. “I heard you’re getting your new partner today.”
Shit! With all of this going on here, I’d completely forgotten. After Anders’ death, I had refused to take on a new partner. My police chief at the time, Clem Haskins, hadn’t pushed it. To be honest, I don’t think he really gave a shit what I did. He had one eye already on his retirement, and if I didn’t want a partner, hey it saved him in his budget. Besides, Anders’ and Alison’s murders were the only two violent crimes in this past year.
Unfortunately, my new Chief, Mr. Addison Barnes III, isn’t of the same viewpoint. He had reached out to his old post in Raleigh and snagged an officer he knew who had just passed the detectives exam and was willing to transfer. And, as I now recall, the new detective’s first day in Wolf Hollow is today.
“Harper?” Maya asked again, looking at me.
“Huh? Yeah great. Great” I shook my head. “I’m meeting them this morning when I get done here. Listen, you got this? I’m gonna go up to the offices and talk to Castriano’s assistant, ask her a few questions, then head back to the station”
“Sure, no problem. We’ll finish up here. Bring the body back. And I’ll make sure your favorite ex doesn’t overstep.” She smiled slightly. I think she’s always felt that I still had something for Angie, which is why we didn’t work out. Not exactly true, but hey, what do I know.
“Thanks Maya. Appreciate it. I’ll call you later” I replied. I took one last look at the open grave, which now had little evidence cones dotting the area where nails and footprints were. By all appearances, Alison Newton had been the victim of an unjustified murder. Now, after being laid to rest, she has been woken, and unconscionably violated again. Alison deserved to be spoken for, and as I left the desecrated gravesite, I silently resolved to be that person.
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